How they met
by Borys68
Summary: From the AU of the Ashtuzual story. Eowyn and one of Ashtuzual's sons meet in the Houses of Healing. They discover they enjoy each other's company ...


3019 Third Age, 2nd half of March, Minas Tirith, Houses of Healing

Eowyn went to the garden where she was to find that Faramir the Warden talked about. She walked up to the bandaged man sitting on a bench. Seeing her approach he bowed:

„Greetings, Princess Eowyn. I beg your pardon for not standing but my leg can barely bear me."

She was surprised that he recognised her immediately, but then again, wounded women were not exactly plentiful in the houses of healing. And doubtlessly her looks set her apart. She felt he was NOT the man she was looking for as he did not look Gondorian at all. He had such piercing pale blue eyes ...

„And you are ... "

„Apologies again, Princess, medication made me forget my manners – Gronguron son of Aravir."

She couldn't help herself and snorted. With his powerful build he did look like somebody who could do it, but to name a child like that ... The image of a crawling infant wielding a deadly rattle flashed across her mind and she giggled. She was immediately ashamed of her reaction and blushed. But the man just gave her a toothy smile.

„Never mind, princess, you are not the first to react this way. Ma named us boys after what she was thinking of doing to Father when she had us. The family consensus is that I got the short end of the stick, with my brothers getting off with Thiriston and Hastogur. "

He smiled at her with mirthful eyes.

She could not hold back and laughed openly.

„Very bloody minded woman, if you pardon me saying so ... "

„Yes, in many ways our Lady Mother was an unusual woman. "

„How did you know who I am? Have you seen the Steward, Lord Faramir? You are not of Minas Tirith, surely?" – She asked several questions without waiting for answers.

He held up a hand and began to uncurl his fingers as he began to answer her questions.

„I saw you at Dunharrow when passing with the Grey Company. As to ...

„So you are one of the Dunedain, kinsmen of Lord Aragorn?"

„... Lord Faramir, he left some time ago."

He smiled at her again.

„Second cousin or something like that, actually. My father was his uncle, father-brother. Although I could call Aragorn uncle as he's so much older. Sometimes I do, to get a rise out of him" – he chuckled.

She was astonished. By his openness. By the fact that Aragorn had family – he simply didn't look the part. By looking as anything but a close blood relation. By being cheerful – the Grey Company had as much cheer to it as a bunch of remorseful perpetrators of matricide. Everything about him – starting with his face which in polite terms was „striking" or " unique"– was different. Something tugged at her memory.

„Two of the Company sat around in cloaks all the time ... "

„Yes, Hastogur and I."

„Why?"

For a moment he stopped smiling and his thin lips disappeared. But in a flash he regained his cheerful outlook and replied:

„There are many who find mine and my brother's looks disconcerting. We did not wish to raise emotions." – Yet somehow this did not sound the whole truth.

Well, Eowyn thought, he was darker skinned then the Eorlings, round faced, with slanted eyes. He sooner would pass as a Dunlending than a Dunadan.

And they had some small talk until they felt the chill and weariness from their wounds and medication. Going back to her room Eowyn noted that this was the first occasion she had laughed in months. She forgot about having to see Faramir about something. She was thinking of meeting the strange Ranger again.

()()()()()()()()

Over the next few days she fell into a rhythm of meetings with Gronguron. The late Boromir's brother, the Steward Faramir joined them several times. The Gondorian, however, often tried to steer the conversation to subjects which were too high brow for her and for the northerner. So he stopped coming and she and the homely Ranger were left to enjoy their own company only. She couldn't stop admiring the audacity of his mother to name him and his bothers thus, and his father's acquiescence to such naming practices. For the time being she accepted that besides thinking of nasty things to do during birth, their mother liked "warrior names" for her boys.

„Do you have sisters?" – she blurted at some point.

He smiled. She knew such a smile – that of an older brother.

„Yes, two sweet little things they are, Cororistell and Gwinagiel." She felt her cheeks burn and eyes bulge and then she saw his face cracking into laughter.

She slapped his shoulder.

„You .. you ..."

„It's a family joke. We boys sometimes teased them that way. In truth they are Pengyril and Hadril. But your face was worth it, Princess."

Occasionally Aragorn cropped up in their conversations. Gronguron was, naturally, oblivious of her feelings towards his cousin. She was glad to hear about him as he was, not only as a leader of man. He diminished in her eyes, was no longer the almost Valar like hero, yet she warmed to him as a person. She somehow came around to see him through the ranger's eyes, as an uncle, someone akin to Théoden, and not an object of her ... love? Desire? Lust? Worship? Infatuation?

She quickly and skilfully pried out of him was there any girl waiting for him up north. She felt a touch of bitterness in his answer that no. He said that no girl of his father's people – or rather the girls' fathers – as besides his female cousins he had to see such a girl yet – would consider him as he was a half breed. Well aware of the haughtiness and bloodline purity obsession of Gondor's nobility of Numenorian descent (she was one fourth herself) this did not particularly surprise her. He also considered himself ugly. Short and ugly. True that she was taller, but she was a quite tall woman, even among the Eorlings or Gondorians. But he was in no way weedy – easily the same breadth of shoulders like her brother. True – a head shorter than the Numenorian standard, be these Dunedain of the North or South.

Although not enthusiastic over her ride with the Muster of the Mark, he appeared to accept it. Apparently his sisters were trained for scouting duty. He only worried that mass melee, with emphasis on brute strength and resilience would put a woman in serious disadvantage. And Gronguron was astonished that she he been given individual combat training only.

„You were not taught to lead? You were not instructed how to command small groups of Riders?" – He asked with disbelief. In his eyes if a highborn was trained in arms beyond self-defence her education should not stop at the basic level. His - shocking to her - line of thinking was that she was taught to lead others anyway – after all he had seen her running a household with scores of people and various discrete elements - „so why not extend it to the practice of arms?

Pleasant as their conversations might be, they looked out at the dark clouds over Mordor and felt dread over the outcome. This led to moments of grave silence. One day they raised this subject. He had a cut up leg and limited movement in his shield arm – it had been hit and heavily bruised at Pellenor.

„I'm not letting them take me alive. If my leg doesn't heal I'm putting a blade through my heart."

He looked at her.

„I ... my sword arm is still weak and numb ... I'll throw myself down the walls, I guess ..."

„Good" - he nodded solemnly – "don't let them take you alive."

„And if my resolve wavered ... " she looked at him searchingly.

„I will kill you before I kill myself. Don't worry." – he reassured her solemnly.

Somehow she felt she could trust him in this regard.

()()()()()()()

One day Merry joined them. Initially he seemed wary and suspicious of the northerner, but this changed over several things. One was quite straightforward – it was his kinship with Aragorn – or Strider as they both called him. But the main was his father's acquaintance with a certain hobbit – one Bilbo Bagginsson. The last was more interesting to Eowyn's eyes, or specifically ears. When speaking to Merry Gronguron switched to a different form of Westron than the one he spoke with her. Merry was astonished

„you speak like a Hobbit!"

„Like a Breelander, actually. That's where I've lived all my life."

„So you don't live where the other Rangers live?" – This made Merry ponder the issue - _where DO Rangers live_?

"I don't live where the Rangers live because many people are unhappy with something my father had done, and where the Rangers live is a secret. Normally I would have even denied that they lived anywhere at" – he continued amused,

"but I wouldn't dare lie to such bright minds like yours."

The ever optimistic Hobbit asked about their post war plans and waxed lyrical about the personality of some Estella Bolger. Gronguron, to be polite, said that there will always be orcs and mannish as well as dwarrow bandits for Rangers to fight. Or maybe he'd stay in the south if the Chieftain had need for them. Then his usually cheerful voice, already flat over his lack of faith over the outcome, turned to outright bitterness. Pointing to the graves in the Pellenor Fields he said:

„Maybe there will be such a shortage of men that some widow with children to feed will be desperate enough to marry me. Excuse me for today" – he almost snarled and left them in the Garden.

()()()()()()()

The Princess invited Gronguron and Merry to ride with her to Cormallen where she was summoned by her brother. They were provided with an escort of Riders from the Westfold. Eowyn did not notice some of the Riders looking quite shocked upon setting eyes on the Ranger. His proximity to the Princess made their eyes harden and they kept constant vigil, with spear and bow at the ready. At first opportunity the escort's leader approached Eowyn.

„Princess, may I ask for a word?"

„What is it, Wulfric?"

„Do you know who he is?"

„Gronguron son of Aravir, a Ranger from the North. Kinsmen to Lord Aragorn."

„I don't know what sort of kinsmen he may be but if that is true, then strange kin do they keep in the north. Do you not see him for what he is?"

„I've never met anybody like him."

„Yet I've seen way too many, Lady. This is how the best soldiers of Isengard look like. He is a half orc. Better send him away for your safety. "

Eowyn was shocked. A half orc? From Isengard? Besides everything he told her being consistent and making sense, some details about Bree being confirmed by Merry, she had seen him ride with the Grey Company with her own eyes. The man she had been spending a few hours a day for the last sennight was a half orc? Her thoughts where in a whirl. His horse drew up alongside her and he opened his mouth to speak.

„Leave me alone! I need to think!" – she snapped.

He was startled by her aggression and rudeness. He stared for a moment then rode away muttering – "by your leave" - towards Merry.

She started going over in mind all that he had said about his family and life. Some pieces began to assume new meaning. She suddenly thought that by right his father should be Aragorn's heir – yet she had heard Stormcrow mumble about "the last of this line". Also the revelation – "not living where the other Rangers live but in some other place" – gained new depth. "It was because of many people not liking what my father had done". Same as no Dunadan father considering his suit for his daughter. Was that thing his father had done HIM? His siblings too? Was his or their mother an ORCESS? There WERE orcesses? Orcs were NOT born from filth rotting in humid caves? She decided to resolve the matter Eorling style.

She rode up close to the pair and called out for Gronguron to join her.

She asked

„Are you a half orc?"

He looked at her with an unascertainable expression and nodded:

„Yes. A honker, actually."

„What's that?"

„Mother orc, father Man. Half-orcs have it the other way around. "

_Bema! They even had names for different breeds!_

Imagining their making made her bilge rise.

"And the people you live around .. don't mind ... "

"The Breelanders were told a lie that Ma was cursed by the elves. The Dunlanders did not mind."

"What Dunlanders?!"

"Father helped Dunlendings flee Dunland from Saruman's – as we know today – rule. They live in a few villages near Bree. That's were I was brought up, growing up amongst Dunlendings."

Eowyn was unsure what was more disgusting – half-orcs or Dunlendings ...

She was confused. On one hand the homely looking ranger had not misled her in any way, even if he was very economical with the truth. This made her think of Grima. Although Grima was worst – he twisted the truth, whereas Gronguron simply kept it to himself. And he was, by blood, a filthy, murderous orc. Brought up among filthy Dunlendings too boot. Yet on the other hand he was Aragorn's cousin. And to date she felt herself comfortable in his company. He had come from the Far North to fight the enemy at Pellenor Fields. He had always been courteous, even if with tendency for low brow humour. He could have knifed her hundreds of times. He made her smile.

Now made her nauseous.

By the time the troop reached Osgiliath the Daughter of Eomund had made up her mind. She wanted no truck with this man. Man? Coming from a Man and an Orc? Of the same kind which had savaged the Westfold so? And rubbing shoulders with dirty Dunlendings since birth? This meant she no longer had agreeable company for the journey. And she did not have much to look out for at the end of it.

Who would she meet at Cormallen - Aragorn? She did not feel like setting her eyes on him ever again. Eomer – the overbearing brother, who would cage her just like Grima – she shivered – had done? She didn't know anybody else amongst those gathered there.

There were worse fates than listening to poetry in Quenya, she decided.

„Wulfric?"

„Lady?"

„We turn back, my wounds have worsened."

„Aye, Lady!"

...

Gronguron rode on towards Cormallen, where cousin Aragorn and brother Hastogur awaited him. And Merry was chatty company. And cooked!

Names:

Thiriston – scarred face

Gronguron – clubs to death

Hastogur – kills with axe.

Cororistell and Gwinagiel. [Ball Ripper & Cock Biter]

Pengyril and Hadril [Killer Bow & Spear Thrower]


End file.
